


Leash

by WolfenM



Category: Luke Cage (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Study, Depression, Disabled Character, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Tag, Ethics, Explicit Language, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Introspection, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multi, Non-Explicit Sex, Philosophy, Post-Canon, Post-Finale, Post-Luke Cage S2, Post-Relationship, Post-Season/Series 02 Finale, Prison, Redemption, Service Dogs, Suicidal Thoughts, Threats of Violence, apologia, child character, prisoners training service dogs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2019-06-11 03:25:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15306393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolfenM/pseuds/WolfenM
Summary: Spoilers for  Season 2 of Luke Cage .... Having lost two loves and all hope of escaping his criminal past, Shades has given up on life -- but continues to live as penance for his sins. Can a therapist and a prison programme (or two) help him find a more positive and productive reason for living, rather than just waiting for death?





	1. Resigned to One's Fate

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: Hernan "Shades" Alvarez, Dr Rebecca Kaplan, Darius "Comanche" Jones, Mariah Dillard (Nee Stokes), Misty Knight, Luke Cage, Danny Rand, Patricia Wilson, Janis Jones, and John "Bushmaster" McIver are property of Marvel Entertainment -- and they are not used here with permission.
> 
> Notes:
> 
> In real life, there is a Riker's Island Prison, but all the pages I can find regarding the MCU spell it "Ryker's".
> 
> Rebecca Kaplan is a therapist and adoptive mother of Billy Kaplan, aka Wiccan, in the pages of Marvel Comics. She is not a prison therapist, though, and has not appeared in the Marvel Cinematic Universe.
> 
> Also note: I haven't decided yet if this work will involve any sex scenes, as I haven't decided if I will turn a certain OC (you haven't met him yet) into a love interest for Shades. (What would you guys prefer?) *EDIT* Okay, I've decided to pursue the romance angle; still debating how detailed to get.

Prison was different this time. 

(Not just because it was a different prison -- Ryker's Island instead of Seagate -- either.) 

_Was this how it was for 'Che?_ Shades found himself wondering as he idly did jumping jacks in the yard. Che had served a longer sentence, and so had been alone for the last leg of it .... 

No. 'Che might have been just as lonely as Shades was now, but 'Che had known Shades was Out There, waiting for him. No one was waiting for Shades. He'd killed 'Che, and more or less gotten Mariah killed. There was no light at the end of this tunnel. 

The tunnel didn't even _have_ an end. 

As he deserved, of course. He'd made his bed. He'd wanted to live life in the real world, right? Well, by the terms of that world, Shades was a monster who wasn't fit for polite society. He'd broken their rules; he would abide by the consequences. Same as he'd made 'Che and Mariah do, by the terms of the criminal underground. Same as he'd made Candace do. Same as he'd made countless others do. Fair was fair. 

Besides, he'd been defeated by Mariah, and with that, with the game over, all the fight had gone out of him. His defenses -- the walls he'd built out of pride and arrogance and everything else he'd used in order to justify his actions and survive -- slowly but surely were crumbling, brick by brick. 

He'd expected to get a shiv in the back within days, even hours, of his arrival. Expected, at the very least, to get his clock cleaned -- while there were extenuating circumstances (Mariah broke the rules first), to much of the rest of the world, he was a snitch, and 'Che wasn't there to watch his back. He welcomed the idea, really -- he wouldn't avoid his punishment by taking his own life, but wouldn't fight back if it meant someone else would do him that favour. 

But no one did. 

It turned out that quite a few inmates had had a beef with the Stokes family, and saw Shades a something of a hero for taking out the last ones. (Apparently the prevailing rumour was that he'd done in Cottonmouth himself.) Some had seen Mariah as a danger to the community -- unstable, a murderer of innocents, breaker of the code -- and thus saw what Shades had done to her (the so-called snitching) as a noble sacrifice of his honour for the good of all. Similarly, others were furious over Mariah's executions of those in her employ, people they knew, and so forgave the "snitch" that brought about her end (somehow missing that she'd only ordered those executions because Shades had gotten her thrown in jail in the first place). And some of them remembered solids Shades had done for them or people they knew, either on the street or during his time at Seagate. With all these people feeling protective towards him, few others were willing to do more than bump him in the cafeteria and glare. 

Eventually, someone did more -- but not a beating. Just as violent, though. 

But Shades didn't care. 

In fact, Shades was almost sorry he couldn't work up the will to do more than lie there like a corpse -- he had a feeling the guy was the kind who liked it when his partner fought back. The man must have told some friends, though, because a few others went at him too, in the following days -- mostly the kind that just wanted some relief and something softer than a hole in a wall. Some, weirdly, even started giving him gifts after, as if they had bartered for the experience. (No wonder those dumb fucks were in prison -- they probably thought silence was consent! Shades might not care what happened to him -- might even feel he deserved whatever he got -- but that wasn't the same as actually _agreeing_ to it ....) 

Sometimes Shades tried to pretend that it was 'Che behind him, but the attempt never lasted long -- 'Che had been a tender, attentive lover, and was usually the bottom in their trysts (although Shades had taken it now and then, out of fairness). The men banging into him now were far too rough for the illusion of 'Che to last. Besides, thinking of 'Che often triggered the memory of their last moments together -- a pain worse than anything happening to his backside. But when that happened, he didn't shake the memory away, didn't try to forget, figuring he deserved that pain most of all. Some enjoyed his tears, thinking _they'd_ made him cry. Others immediately stopped, and either left in a hurry, or tried to comfort him. 

Confessing to the police seemed to have broken his ability to hide anything. If asked what was wrong, he answered, wholly and truthfully. After all, maybe the would-be amour du jour didn't _know_ he was a snitch. Maybe _this_ person would kill him once they _did_ know. Or maybe someone else would hear of his vulnerability, his weakness, and take advantage of it, or be disgusted by it enough to kill him out of sheer annoyance .... 

But no. He usually got a shoulder to cry on instead, which frustrated him -- he didn't deserve comfort. 

Mariah might have lost her innocence because of Cottonmouth, but maybe, with the man gone, she could have gotten away from the life, finally, with the facade of respectability becoming her whole life instead of just being her mask. They'd never know, because Shades had come along and _anchored_ her to the criminal world. _Corrupted_ , her beyond repair. And 'Che ... well, Shades had been the brains of their heists; maybe 'Che could have chosen a better life without Shades being such a bad influence. Or maybe 'Che could have gone straight once he'd gotten out of prison. Instead, Shades pulled him back into a life of crime -- even as Shades himself had wanted out! 

Shades almost looked forward to Hell, if it existed. He was always feeling half-frozen now, with neither 'Che nor Mariah to warm him, a cold ache left in their place. He had the rest of his life to contemplate that ache, and the fact that he had created it, was the reason they were both gone, was the instrument of his own torture. 

He alo had the rest of his life to consider the fact that, if he was responsible for Mariah's descent into evil, then all the innocent lives she'd taken were his fault too. 

And the rest of his life to consider the notion that Candace hadn't deserved to die either, had only been momentarily seduced into being an accomplice by Mariah, rather than practically born into crime like he had been. She hadn't _really_ been of that world; its rules shouldn't have applied to her. Maybe that was likewise true of other people whose life he had ended. All those lives he couldn't give back, couldn't fix so that they might step into the light like he'd hoped to do himself. 

He was sure he was going to live to be a hundred and twenty-five or some shit, those thoughts keeping him awake every night -- as they should. 

Yes, another 85 years of the things he'd witnessed playing on an endless loop in his head -- the sight of the light fading in 'Che's eyes, the smell of Anansi's burning flesh, the sound of the gunfire that had snuffed out the lives of people whose only crime had been eating at Bushmaster's family's restaurant .... 

He would also hear Patricia Wilson's words about him being garbage echo in his ears -- along with every snide and flippant comment he'd made during his confession, as if he'd been determined to prove her right (even before she'd said it). With any luck, her wish that he would go to Hell would come true. The longer he was in prison, the more certain he was that Hell was better than he deserved. That brief time after his confession, living amongst the non-criminal people, thinking he was one of them, had given him a chance to look at life from their perspective ... and now he couldn't stop. Now he saw more and more through their eyes. 

No, he wouldn't cut his time short -- didn't deserve that mercy -- but he also wasn't sure how long he would actually last before going insane, or caving in to the urge to bash his head against the wall. 

As it was, most days? It was getting harder and harder to keep moving like he was expected to. It was as if he were already dead, and rigor mortis was setting in. Other days, as he walked through the halls, he felt like he was floating, like a ghost, detached from the world. Either way, when people talked to him, he wore a serene mask, saying little aside from answering their questions, wishing they would leave him be even as he didn't believe he deserved that peace. 

It wasn't long before he earned the nickname "Dead Man Walking" (despite not actually having a death sentence) .... 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got the next three chapters and part of the fourth written, but since what I write after might call for changes (and it might take me a while to finish the story), I'm going to release them slowly.
> 
> EDIT July 16, 2018: made some small adjustments due to [ an interview with Rossie in which he says Shades wasn't a snitch, and why.](https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/live-feed/luke-cage-theo-rossi-shades-explains-season-2-arc-1127303)


	2. A Matter of Perspective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A therapist helps Shades alter his outlook into something more productive.

His mandatory therapy sessions with Dr Rebecca Kaplan went much the same as those moments with the more "comforting" lovers, sans any sex: while he was otherwise quiet, he thoroughly answered every question posed to him, and didn't hold back his tears.

On his fourth session, she asked if he ever had thought about suicide. He made it perfectly clear that he had no intention of committing it, so there was no need to put him on any sort of watch, if that was why she was asking. He understood that he was being punished, as he _deserved_ to be, and that was that. _Wanting_ to die was his life now; even if he _could_ still feel anything besides guilt, he didn't _deserve_ to feel anything else.

Strangely, she didn't seem too pleased about him clinging to his guilt. "Mr Alvarez, do you realise how rare it is for _anyone_ , criminal or otherwise, to recognise the harm they've done and accept responsibility for it?" she pointed out.

He shrugged. "Does it matter? It's not like they're gonna let me go for doing so," he countered.

"The bigger question is, do they _need_ to, in order for you to be a good person from now on?"

The question was like a sucker-punch.

"It will probably come as no surprise to you that I've seen the tape of your confession -- I already knew of all of the crimes you've confessed to me before you confessed them, save for the lesser things you told me you did as a child. Thing is, if someone had seen that original confession, and then saw your confessions to me over these past few sessions, I'm sure they'd half-wonder if the confessions were even made by the same person. The swagger, the humour, the attitude, is gone now. They'd agree with me that the new confessions are full of humility and shame."

"Maybe I'm faking it," he suggested.

"To what end? As you yourself pointed out just a moment ago, it's not like you'd get out early, having been given life without the possibility of parole."

He didn't really have a counterargument, since he hadn't actually been faking anything.

"The thing is, Mr Alvarez, I think I saw shame and humility in your _first_ confession, too. I _believe_ your statement that you surrendered in order to stop Mariah from murdering more innocents -- that's commendable. And you also expressed great disdain at what Tone did -- that sounded honest."

"I seem to remember pissing Wilson off with how funny I found it all, though."

"Humour is a common stress reliever. It's not uncommon for people to laugh or crack when they're scared or upset."

"Or, you know, when they think something is actually funny," Shades countered. "I mean, there I was, laying out everything I'd done -- and making it so that I could never go to jail for any of it. At the time, I thought I had beat the cops at their own game, and I was, frankly, _giddy_."

"I don't doubt that was part of your motive, but the human heart can be pretty complex and contradictory. Do you think getting immunity for your crimes and gaining relief from finally confessing your sins are mutually exclusive? Is it impossible that part of you hoped that, in confessing, you would finally pay for the things you'd done? That you'd have been fine with either option? Look at you now, wanting to suffer -- does it seem so unlikely that you didn't also want to suffer back then? That you've _always_ felt this way on some level? Maybe you even hoped someone would catch you sooner -- and then help you turn things around, get you out of that life."

"I've been in prison before," he pointed out. "I did some pretty criminal things in there, and still got wholeheartedly right back into the life when I got out."

"You were in a _corrupt_ prison," she corrected. "But okay. Let's say you were indeed simply trying to gain immunity for past deeds, and no part of you thought that someone involved with law -- say, Misty Knight herself, or a lawyer or judge -- might be the one to finally beat you at your own game, for your own good. Even then, I still believe your _current_ shame is genuine. And while it _is_ good that you feel ashamed of the things you've done -- shame can be a great tool to keep us from repeating wrongful actions -- shame is a problem when it makes us afraid to do _anything, ever_. Whatever your experience at Seagate, prison is _supposed_ to be about rehabilitation," she went on. "Rehabilitation means growth, and not moving means not growing."

He raised a brow. "I thought prison was about _punishment_."

"Punishment in the sense of discouraging one from repeating mistakes so one doesn't end up being punished again -- or, failing that, keeping one from harming others, while hopefully scaring those following the same path into stepping off of it, sure."

Shades thought of 'Che -- dead because Shades felt his friend had needed to be punished. But what good did that punishment serve? No one knew, so no one was discouraged from committing the same sin -- and 'Che himself had no chance now to do better.

_I'm sorry, brother._

"But think about it," Kaplan went on. "The threat of Hell -- or prison -- is only designed to make a person afraid to sin when they think someone is _watching_. It doesn't make them understand _why_ they shouldn't do something in the _first_ place -- meaning they might commit the same sins again, if they think they can get _away_ with it. Punishment doesn't teach them to understand what goodness is, much less make them want to actually _become_ good. So if we release someone from prison and only rely on their fear of returning to keep them in line, can we really trust that we're safe around them?"

Well, he couldn't refute that. Hadn't he said himself that using violence to get what you wanted meant always looking over your shoulder? It just hadn't occurred to him that a general prevalence of violence meant _everyone_ , criminal or otherwise, had to watch their backs at least to _some_ degree; ill-aimed bullets knew nothing of innocence or guilt.

"Besides, the desire to _give_ punishment -- as in vengeance -- can be a poison in the heart of the one seeking it," Kaplan mused (making Shades start to wonder if she had been a philosophy major or a poet before becoming a therapist). "Look at what you told me about Bushmaster, wanting to punish Mariah for what her family had done. What did that get him, but his uncle and innocent bystanders killed? Even if he had anything to do with the person who killed Mariah, did her death undo anything? Was the satisfaction of it worth the loss of his uncle? And if he wasn't involved with Mariah's death, then his particular efforts were for nothing. No, Mr Alvarez, while we should never expect a victim to forgive those who wronged them, everyone who kills to punish leaves behind a someone who loved the punished -- and who wants to punish the punisher in turn. An eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind. We may not always succeed, but we do _try_ to keep the mentality of vengeance _out_ of the justice system."

She seemed to realise that her passion had gotten the best of her, smoothing her clothes and clearing her throat.

"Getting back to my point, if you agree what you did was wrong, and have no desire to continue the criminal life you led, then your suffering serves no higher purpose. The dead don't know or care what you do now -- but if they did, I'd wager that the good-hearted among them would rather you bring more love into this world than hate."

He scowled in confusion. "I don't hate anyone ...." There was no one _left_ to hate.

"You hate _yourself_."

Unable to deny that, he chuckled mirthlessly. "So your advice is what, to _love_ myself?"

"Close. My advice is to henceforth live the life of someone that _you_ feel would be _worthy_ of love."

He rolled his eyes. "And what kind of life would that _be?_ "

"Only you can decide that. For what it's worth, though, I _already_ feel you're that person."

"Yeah, right," he scoffed -- though he wasn't sure if he was scoffing at the idea that she was telling the truth about what she thought of him, or scoffing at the idea that she was _right_.

She gave him one of her assesing looks. "Are you familiar with Dungeons and Dragons, Mr Alvarez?"

He shrugged, scowling in confusion at the change of subject. "Yeah -- we played it sometimes at Seagate."

She smiled. "My son and his boyfriend are really into it. You're familiar with the concept of alignments?"

He nodded again, bemused.

"You _were_ , I think, Lawful Evil for a while, but now? You're Lawful Neutral -- and the fact that you shifted at all suggests you can _continue_ to change. In fact, I'd say you're already leaning more towards Lawful Good than Neutral. And understand, contrary tp popular belief, Neutral, not Good, is our default at birth; we can't intentionally do kind things any more than we can do harm, and we care only about our needs being met. As we grow older, our circumstances can nudge us towards either -- and change from moment to moment. I think you could have lived a very different life if your dice had landed differently. Instead, you rolled a Natural 1. You've had to fight far harder than the average person to survive, and the proverbial fire you went through shaped you into a weapon; now's your chance to roll again, land a Natural 20, and reforge yourself into something else."

"You're mixing metaphors a bit there, doc."

It was her turn to shrug. "You still understand what I mean, though, right? So here's what I'd like you to do until our next session: instead of thinking of all the harm you've done, try to focus on what you could do henceforth to make the world a better place. Doesn't have to be a big thing, either! Small kindnesses can go a long way. Make a list -- let's start with ... five things?"

He sighed. "I'm not making any promises."

"That's still better than a flat-out 'No'!" she replied with a grin, eliciting one from him in turn despite himself.

It was his first genuine smile since his arrival.

"Oh! Before you go, I have something for you!" she said as he reached for the doorknob.

He almost told her he didn't care, almost just left, but he decided that wouldn't be very nice -- and if nothing else, he _did_ want to be nice. So despite not having the slightest bit of curiosity, he turned back to her, then accepted the already-opened, somewhat-bulky padded envelope she was holding out to him.

"Someone sent me mail?" he asked, confused.

"Well, not you _specifically_. There are various programs where people send things to inmates in general. I just think this particular care package could be beneficial to you."

He nodded. If it made someone feel good to send a prisoner a gift, and it made Kaplan happy to hand it to him, he wasn't about to spoil their happiness. He could still deprive himself of the contents.

Back in his cell, he put the package under his cot, not caring if any of his cell mates might spot and take it, and forgot about it.

 

* * *

It occurred to him three nights later (while he was shivering and plagued with nightmares of the last times he saw 'Che, Mariah, Candace, and dozens of others) that if someone gives you a present, good people show gratitude. Telling himself that this was _not_ a means to relieve the horrors of his mind by avoiding more sleep, but rather a matter of fulfilling an obligation, he reached under the cot and grabbed the envelope; sitting up, he examined its contents.

The first item he found in it was a felt dog, clumsily sewn together with yarn -- it looked to have been made by a child in art class. The second item was a letter, which he was just barely able to make out in the dim emergency lighting.

_Dear friend,  
My name is Donna; enclosed, you will find a dog made by my eight-year-old daughter, Angelique. I know it's not the prettiest thing, but please don't throw it away -- find another home for it, if you don't want it. You see, my daughter has several birth defects, and every stitch costs her so much. She has been making all sorts of things for her daddy, an army sergeant, to both show him that she is doing well, and to keep him company overseas ... but her daddy was killed before we could send this one to him. She told me that this doggy has a duty to watch over someone, so she needed to find somewhere to send it. Then her teacher asked her class to make things for people in Ryker's, explaining that many people there have lost hope and faith in themselves, so Angelique decided that this was what her doggy was meant for. She says that if she can make this doggy, then anyone can do anything! No matter what you've done, every tomorrow is a chance to do better. We believe in you! You don't have to reply -- I'll understand if you don't -- but if you want to, she loves pen-pals! I'm told the prison can put you in touch with us. Whatever you decide, I wish you well._

Shades shook his head in disbelief -- did this woman even realise that this precious toy could be given to a _murderer_? Surely such well-wishing wasn't meant for the likes of _him_! She'd probably assumed it would be given to someone who had been caught doing drugs once. He'd give it to Charlie, who was just in for possession (and, well, assaulting the officer who arrested him).

As Shades tried to put the felt toy back in the envelope, it snagged on something. He looked inside, finding a photo. It was a young girl holding the dog -- with a hand with only two fingers and a thumb, against an arm that ended at the wrist. One of her eyes was cloudy.

Her smile seemed to light up his cell.

If a child with her disabilities could make what she had made, how dare _he_ not at least make an effort to simply be a better man? Especially since, really, _he did want to be better._ It was just that he didn't believe he _could_ be better. It occurred to him now, though, that it didn't _matter_ if he really could be better -- a good man would _try_ , no matter what.

_And if you disappoint her?_

Re-reading her mother's transcription of her words -- and taking into consideration the fact he had no intention of stealing from or murdering anyone ever again -- he realised that the only way that he _would_ disappoint her, would be by _not_ trying.

Resolving now to give his therapist's plan a go, he lay down, dog wrapped tightly in his arms.

His last thought as he drifted into sleep was that it had gotten warmer in his cell.


	3. Standing Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shades makes a new friend.

Chapter 3

Shades carried the dog with him throughout the next day, a tangible reminder of his resolve. He stared at it, thoughtful, as he picked at his food at dinner. He almost didn't even notice someone sit diagonally from him at the table, until the guy spoke. 

"Hey, man! Who's your little friend?" 

Shades tensed -- was this the day someone would finally kick his ass, because he dared to carry a toy around? 

If it was, would he fight back this time? Or would that make today a failure in the "better man" department? 

He relaxed when he realised it was Stitches, the man who had the bunk above his. Outside, Stitches had been one Dr David Jukiba, MD; Stitches still adamantly maintained his oath, so there was no worry of an attack from him. Stitches never had to worry himself, after all -- no one would ever touch him. If you got shived, having someone around who knew how to stop bleeding (and who was likely to help you no matter _who_ you were or where your loyalties lie) was useful. 

Shades looked at the dog. What _was_ it's name? "Comanche," he decided without even a moment's thought. Then, "Well, 'Che-Dawg." He hoped 'Che wouldn't mind. 

Stitches nodded with a soft look, probably remembering Shades mention his best friend at some point. "'S cute. Where'd ya get him?" 

Shades explained about Angelique, and about Kaplan's directive. 

"You come up with anything for that list?" Stitches asked. 

Shades shrugged. "I feel like everything I've thought of so far goes without saying -- don't pick fights, don't murder people, that kind of thing. Honestly, though, I've been thinkin' more about whether or not I should do that pen-pal thing -- and what I should say if I do." 

Stitches nodded again, looking thoughtful. "If I may make an observation ...?" 

Whatever the man had done to land in prison, Shades had only ever seen Stitches be kind and thoughtful, and so Shades though the man's opinions were surely worth something. With the first spark of curiosity he'd felt in a long time, Shades replied, "Please do!" 

"You seem a lot ... _brighter_ , today. Since I met you, you've always seemed like you were just waiting to die, but now ... you seem ready to _live_. Hell, you've said more to me in the last five minutes than you had since you arrived! Obviously that little girl and her gift played a part in that, so if you ask me? I think granting her request is the least you could do." 

"Part of me thinks that too, but ... do I really have any right, stained as I am, to reach out to her? Wouldn't doing so be about _my_ needs, my trying to feel better about myself? Wouldn't I be _using_ her?" 

Was that what he'd done to Mariah? To 'Che? 

"Well, seems to me that she and her mother reached out first," Stitches replied. "Her mother _had_ to know that her gift might go to someone who has done some truly evil things, right? So it's arguably as much about them feeling good about themselves for being compassionate, as it is about you helping yourself. You've been drowning; it's okay to accept a life-ring that's been thrown out to you, even if it means the people who threw it to you might have to do some pulling. They know; they wouldn't have thrown it otherwise. Besides, it's not like you're gonna tell this little girl to do bad things." 

"Yeah, but ... what if she asks what I've done? What do I _say?_ " 

"Maybe your first letter should be to her mama, then -- tell her, and let her decide whether her daughter should associate with you." 

"Is that fair to Donna, though? Burdening her with the knowledge of the horrible things I've done?" 

"Like I said, I'm pretty sure she knows there was a possibility of connecting to a hardened criminal with an ugly past. But you _could_ start by just saying you've done some terrible things, without details, and that you want to make sure she understands just how bad before writing any more." 

Shades granted him an affectionate smile. "You're a smart man, Stitches." 

Stitches barked a laugh. "I suppose that's how I got through medical school, but if I were really _that_ smart, I probably wouldn't be here." 

* * *

After that, Shades and Stitches found an easy camaraderie, often gravitating towards each other in the mess, the rec room, or the yard. Shades had known that Stitches led a yoga class almost every day; now Shades joined in. Stitches also talked Shades into joining a book club he ran. They played cards or watched TV in the evening, finding they had similar tastes in shows. And so Shades quickly realised that, while he'd been sentenced to Life, he hadn't actually been living for a while. Now, the phrase "life sentence" had a new meaning. 

Shades expected to be hassled about 'Che-Dawg sooner or later, but no one said or did anything about the toy -- maybe out of the strange respect people had for him already, or maybe because he was so often with Stitches, and everyone respected the doctor. Where he'd previously maintained a policy of "ignore and be ignored", and people had quickly learned to leave him alone, suddenly more and more people started talking to him -- and he found himself responding. Even if someone had hassled him, though, he wouldn't have cared, wouldn't have stopped carrying 'Che-Dawg. The question only remained as to whether he would fight back if someone finally _did_ threaten him. 

The day he was meant to see Kaplan again, he found his answer at lunch. 

"What the fuck's _this_ , man?" asked a particularly dangerous-looking fellow, who snagged 'Che-Dawg from the table, laughing. 

Shades found himself frozen. He was enraged, wanted to take 'Che-Dawg back and punish the thief much in the same way he'd punished a man once for insulting Mariah -- but the very fact that he felt that murderous rage again (for a toy, no less) _terrified_ him. He didn't want to be a man who was capable of things like that anymore. 

What if he always would be? What if he could never change more than superficially? 

"Do they put _babies_ in prison now? Wha'd you do, steal a lollipop?" the thief continued. 

As much as he hated doing it, Shades slipped into nonchalance -- the version of himself that helped him act like murder was nothing -- as a way to bank his rage. He had to be careful, though -- in this state, he was even more deadly, really, being better able to think in a calculated way, without compassion. 

Instead of grabbing for the dog or punching the man, Shades just shrugged. "They got me on sales of illegal arms, drug trafficking, and several counts of murder. You?" 

The newcomer scoffed. "You ain't no murderer, pretty-boy -- they prolly got when you were turnin' tricks on a corner somewhere." 

Shades shrugged again. "If that's what you wanna believe." And he went back to eating his lunch, steeling himself to not look at 'Che-Dawg. 

"Put the dog down," Stitches growled as he came into the room. People immediately took notice, getting to their feet, the air suddenly thick with menace. 

"Oh, is that what this thing is? This guy your bitch, bitch? Whaddya gonna do if I don't?" 

"I'm sorry -- I should introduce myself: I'm Stitches, the doctor. I'm the guy who will stand by and let you _bleed out_ when our friends here decide to tenderise you with their forks. PUT. THE DOG. DOWN." 

The newcomer looked around the room, doubtless seeing what Shades now saw aimed the man's way from every corner of the room: sheer hostility. "Fine, whatever," the man relented, tossing the toy onto the table. 

"NICELY," another man -- Hank, one of the "lovers" who'd tried to comfort Shades -- demanded. 

The newcomer gingerly sat the dog upright, similar to how it had been positioned before. "We good?" the man asked, exasperated. 

"Almost," Stitches replied. "I give you now a word of advice: unless they're doing something _to you_ , never make assumptions about or criticise the methods your fellow inmates use to cope while being inside. You don't need to be making enemies for no damn reason. We clear?" 

The newcomer swallowed hard. "Crystal." 

Stitches grinned disarmingly, slapping the man on the shoulder. "Good! What's your name, son?" 

"Dozer ..." The man was looking at Stitches like he'd lost his mind, while everyone else went back to lunch, the show over. 

_As in bulldozer, or someone who sleeps?_ Shades wondered, one side of his lips curling of its own volition as he picture the little construction workers from _Fraggle Rock_. 

"Well, Dozer, let me show you around ...." And so Stitches left with the guy, face and voice friendly, but the grip on the guy's shoulder looking painful. 

Shades wondered why Stitches had gone out of his way to protect him, the doctor even going so far as to suggest he would break his oath, all to protect a toy .... 

* * *

"Maybe because he believes in you and wants you to succeed," Kaplan suggested when Shades related the story half an hour later. 

"I'm not sure I like the extra pressure of yet another person's expectations," Shades remarked ruefully. 

Kaplan shrugged. "That's what being part of a society is -- caring what others think." 

"Yeah, well, I'm not _in_ society -- this is where people are sent so society can _forget_ them," Shades pointed out with a chuckle. 

"You're so sure? If that were totally true, I wouldn't be here, and Donna and Angelique wouldn't have sent that package." 

Shades lowered his eyes. "I know _you_ feel prison is about rehabilitation, but ... I'm not sure the _rest_ of the world agrees with you. At least not when it comes to lifers like me." 

Kaplan leaned forward. "So help us change that. Put it on your list of ways to make the world better." 

Shades picked at a loose thread on the arm of his chair. "Are you sure that would make the world better, though? Giving people faith in criminals, making people believe we can be ... fixed? Or is that setting them up to be hurt when they trust the wrong person?" 

The moment the words were out of his mouth, Shades shook his head at himself. _Hold up, Hernan -- didn't Stitches talk me past believing this? Why am I back here?_

"Ahhh, I see: you're worried about sending letters to Donna and Angelique. Consider me a failsafe, then," Kaplan suggested, leaning back again. "Everything you send goes through me first -- you'll never have direct contact, can never ask them for contraband, and if you end up in solitary, I won't pretend you're just too busy to send replies. I won't sugarcoat anything." 

"And what if _you're_ the one being set up to trust the wrong person?" 

She smirked. "My job may be to help everyone in here be the best they can be, to believe in and support them, sure, but that doesn't mean I'm _gullible_. I was _trained_ for this work -- rehabilitation, I mean. I know how very wrong it can go. I know not everyone wants to change -- and come perhaps can't. I choose to take the risk that comes with trying -- especially when I see the potential in people like you." 

"Why bother?" he asked -- the question as much for himself as her. "For lifers like me, I mean, who will never be released back into the world." 

"Because you _are_ still a part of the world. But even if you can't believe that, surely you can accept that you touch lives _here_ \-- and some of _them_ will get outside again. You've talked a lot about your guilt, even have mentioned karma -- help me help your fellow inmates, and maybe some of the karmic debt can be worked off. Or, you know ... if you want so much to be good, just do it because it's the right thing, even if you never get anything out of it." 

He still felt like protesting -- but why? If he wanted to be good, why did he keep making excuses not to try, to not interact with others? 

And then he had it. 

"I'm scared," he told her. 

"Of ...?" 

"Of finding out that I can't be better than I am right now." 

"See, that's the thing -- you have the potential to be better right up until you die, so you'll never have confirmation that you _can't_ , because you'll be dead before that. But you might at least get confirmation that you _can_." 

Well, when she put it _that_ way .... 

"So. Did you work on the list?" 

He winced. "Kinda? I couldn't really think of anything that's not a given." "Like ...?" 

He shrugged. "Don't kill or steal. Don't hit people. That kind of thing." 

"Those are perfectly fine -- really, I'd be more worried if those _weren't_ on your overall list! But at the same time? I can't help but notice that those are all things you _shouldn't_ do. They're all about restraint, about keeping yourself from being bad. We need to work on ways you can be proactive about being _good_ \-- and making the world better." 

Shades was a bit floored by this observation. And also chagrined: he'd forgotten the list was supposed to be about bettering the _world_ , not himself! 

"Sorry -- I guess I didn't follow directions very well." 

She seemed confused for a moment. Then, "Oh! You mean -- it's fine, Mr Alvarez. Bettering _yourself_ is a valid way to better the world too -- like I said, you're part of it!" 

"Well, that's good to know, 'cause I've got quite a ways to go working on myself, before I can turn my attention to the rest of world," he chuckled. 

"Even if that's true -- and I don't think it is -- it's never too early to _think_ about what your options are. So how about you try again: make a list of five ways you can better the world -- but this time focusing on what you can _actively_ do, rather than what you should _refrain_ from doing." 

He nodded, and began to get to his feet. 

"Oh, one more thing, Mr Alvarez. I'm just wondering ... what would you have done if Dr Jukiba hadn't stepped in?" 

Shades dropped back into his chair -- he thought what he would have done was technically the right thing, but he also questioned his reason. 

Kaplan once again made him wonder if she was psychic. "You would have let him attack you, right? Would you do that because you still feel you deserve it, or because you think, in order to be a better you, you shouldn't fight?" 

He winced. "Bit of both?" 

She gave him an understanding smile. "And can you guess what I think about that?" 

"... That punishing myself doesn't help anyone?" 

Kaplan nodded. She then turned off the session recorder and leaned forward, whispering, "Now, I'm going to say this in an unofficial capacity, because of course it's not technically okay to fight, and depending on a few factors, you could get thrown in solitary for it. But Mr Alvarez, if someone physically attacks you, morally-speaking? I'd say you have a right to defend yourself." 

"Well, technically he didn't attack me," Shades pointed out. 

"He did take something of yours, though -- you have a right to take back what's yours. I'm not saying beat the shit out of him or anything, but you don't have to just sit by and let others hurt you in some way, either. It's good to avoid fights, yes, but defense is not aggression. Protecting yourself is self-care." 

"I dunno, doc. I spent a lot of my life justifying the harm I did as self-preservation." 

"That's a fair point. It's a slippery slope, to be sure; even those people you might consider paragons of goodness have likely struggled with what is and isn't acceptable to do in the name of self-preservation. But perhaps some actions -- like blocking a punch or simply grabbing back an item someone took from you, or immobilising someone who's trying to stab or rape you -- are on pretty even ground, well away from the steeper parts of that slope. It may help to ask yourself, 'Would I do this to protect an innocent?' I'd argue that you deserve the same consideration you would give to an innocent bystander." 

He laughed self-deprecatingly. "We're gonna have to agree to disagree there, doc. I'm in here precisely because I'm _not_ innocent." 

"But you would like to someday be as good as those you consider to be innocent, right?" 

"Uh ... yeah?" Even if he didn't think he could be, that it was too late for him, he still _wanted_ to be. 

"Then protect that future you." 

He snorted, skeptical. "Sure, doc," he humoured her. He then made a show of looking at the clock. "Um, I gotta go now for my shift at the library." 

She smirked, clearly on to him: he was just wanting an excuse to escape an uncomfortable conversation. "All right, Mr Alvarez, you're dismissed." 

He managed to keep his movements sedate, despite feeling like he'd been spotted shoplifting and wanting to bolt. 

When he realised he'd forgotten 'Che-Dawg, though, he hurried back in to grab the toy -- then left as quickly as he'd returned. 

* * *

As his library shift drew to a close, Shades grabbed the last book from the re-shelf cart, about to put it away, when the cover caught his eye. 

_The Golden Rule: a Study in World Religions and Philosophies_. 

Instead of shelving it, he sat down at a table and began to read, taking notes (with 'Che-Dawg supervising). There he stayed, until ten minutes till the 4 PM head-count; he shelved the book, then hurried back to his cell -- this time not forgetting 'Che-Dawg. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably worth mentioning that I listened to "So Alive", by The Goo Goo Dolls, on repeat while working on this chapter and the one before it. Also, though I wrote most of the chapter a whole ago, I added the bit about yoga today after seeing a video about how it's helping inmates.


	4. Reaching Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shades makes more friends! Unfortunately, that also means making another enemy ....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay! There was a convention to prepare for, and then I was sick after the con for like a month and a half, and now I'm trying to catch back up. Wish I could promise the chapters would be more timely, but I seem to have trouble finding enough spoons nowadays. :/ I do have maybe a quarter of the next chapter done ....

After the head-count, Shades went to the computer lab, 'Che-Dawg in tow, and started an email to Donna (for Kaplan to forward, of course). 

_Dear Ms Donna,_  
I thank Angelique for what she made, and you for raising such a kind heart (and for sending the package), but I think it's important for you to know who I am and what I've done before deciding if I should keep such a precious gift. I won't tell you specifics now -- I have done many horrific things, and would spare you the ugly details if I can. If you don't want to hear, I will pass the gift on to someone more deserving. If you do want to know, and then want nothing to do with me after, again, I will pass the toy on.  
~Hernan "Shades" Alvarez 

He was surprised at how anxious he felt, hitting send. 

He made the effort to be more sociable the next day, and so he was in the midst of a game of Kings in the Corner when Kaplan called him down to her office. When he arrived, she patted the chair at a side-table with a computer, telling him to log in. 

There was a reply from Donna already. 

_Dear Mr Alvarez -- can I call you Shades?  
I appreciate your wish to be up-front. That tells me that, whatever you've done, you don't want to be that person anymore; I want to help you as best I can on your journey away from him. I also want to raise a child who won't give up on humanity, someone who can can keep the faith when the world is at its worst. I'm already at least partially aware of things you've done, thanks to news archives and the internet -- I know you've killed people (and of course I don't condone that). But you're still alive, with a world of possibilities left to your existence; it would be just as much of a loss to not do anything positive with it. I believe one of the best things my daughter and I can do to honour those whose lives you took is help eliminate the darkness that lead to their deaths -- and I believe the best way to do that is to help you hold tight to your humanity, and make it brighter, stronger, so you can help others in turn. So let's take the next step together; tell me whatever you want to -- but know that I might share it with others._

That made him pause for a moment -- was this some sort of entrapment? But he quickly dismissed the idea: he'd already given the police and Kaplan his life story, so it wouldn't matter if he gave it to Donna, too. Besides, if she was trying to get another confession out of him, why would she warn him that she might share what he told her? He read on. 

_I think it would be valuable to get whatever insight we can to understand what drives a person to do horrible things -- and then maybe keep others from slipping down such a path. Will you help me by sharing your story?  
~Donna_

The last line hit Shades hard. Blinking away tears, he asked Kaplan, "Can I, uh ... can I have a piece of paper and a pencil, o-or something?" 

Wordlessly, Kaplan handed him what he asked for. At the top of the page, Shades wrote, _A List of Things I Can Do to Make the World Better_ , then underlined it. Under it, he wrote, _1) Share my story, in an effort to help others understand the world I lived in, and to show those who live there themselves that actions do indeed have consequences -- whether we can conceive of them or not._

Kaplan, reading over his shoulder, nodded approvingly, patting his back. "Excellent start. You can stay in here and keep working on it, or type up a reply to Donna, while I do some paperwork -- you've got hour or so." 

Shades used the time well, filling the screen with his life story -- especially how things ended with 'Che, and with Mariah. He was in tears by the time he was done, of course. (Kaplan let him have an extra minute or two to compose himself before he left.) 

Later, in the library, he 'Checked his email, and found another reply already. 

_You worried how I would react; now I worry how *you* might! I'm not going to lie: the fact that you could kill your best friend / lover, as well as the lover after him, is ... well, horrifying. But I knew there was a possibility of meeting someone who had done such things when I sent the dog in the first place. Besides, you seem pretty horrified yourself -- a good sign that you would never do such a thing again!_

_And I understand that the culture you _all_ were in -- the world of crime -- operates differently than the one I live in. It seems to me that 'Che knew the risks he was taking, what you would probably do to him. Maybe he would even 'Cheer you on now, in your effort to redeem yourself, rather than wish you harm._

Shades recalled all too easily the memory of Comanche's death -- but this time forced himself to focus on his friend's eyes, rather than trying to dispel the memory. Did 'Che have more compassion for Shades than Shades had shown him? Under 'Che's fear, had there been understanding, forgiveness, and love there? Or was that wishful thinking? 

_I also understand that the world often makes it harder for people born in certain circumstances to avoid the life you were in, much less get out of it. My heart breaks for you both -- and for Mrs Dillard, considering the things you say she went through._

_Further, I'm proud of you for recognising that she posed a threat to the world at large, and for putting a stop to her even as you still loved her. I think the fact that you _did_ still love her speaks well of you -- as does the fact that you aborted your attempt to strangle her, opting for a non-lethal means to deal with her despite her own lethal actions. Whenever you think you are not worthy of love, think on your feelings for her -- and for 'Che -- and maybe that will help you to believe that you can still be loved in some way yourself._

Shades blinked back tears, swallowing hard. When he'd confessed, intent on sending Mariah to prison, he'd told himself he was trying to do a good thing ... but even before he'd been arrested in the diner, it had been hard to _maintain_ that belief. The way everyone looked at him, especially Luke Cage and his crew, the doubt in their eyes spread to him like a contagion. And when he found himself reminding Misty that he had immunity, only to find he'd been mistaken about the terms because he'd driven away his lawyer, he lost any bit of self-respect he'd had left. He became convinced that he'd just used the offer to help incarcerate Mariah as an excuse to get that immunity, rather than the immunity being a side benefit to stopping her. So to now have someone not only believe he really _had_ been trying to stop Mariah, but who also recognised how hard it had been to do that to her, and _praise_ him for protecting others from her ... he could finally believe again that he had indeed been driven at least partially by something good and selfless, not just self-preservation, and therefore there was still hope for him. 

_Now, if you don't mind, Angelique has some questions for you!_  
_1) What have you named her doggy?_  
_2) Do you like to read, and if you do, what are some of your favourite books?_  
_3) Do you get to watch TV there, and if you do, what do you like to watch?_  
_4) What's your favourite animal?_

There were a half-dozen more questions like that, and he dutifully answered them all. The last one asked what his cellmates were like. 

_Stitches is a doctor; he sleeps on the bunk above mine, and is a good friend. We hang out a lot, talking, playing games -- mostly with cards -- or watching TV. Some guy tried to take 'Che-Dawg from me, but Stitches stopped him! Rook was a "career criminal", like me. I'm not as close with him, but we talk or play games sometimes too. The last guy in my cell is Cobra -- I don't think he likes me. I've heard him talk to Rook -- who is his best friend in here -- and Stitches, so I know he can talk, but he ignores me, and I don't know why. But he hasn't hurt me or anything, so it's fine -- one thing I've learned in life is that not everyone is going to like you. And really, I count my blessings that _anyone_ likes me at all, after the things I've done._

He followed up his answers with questions for her -- mostly turning her own questions back at her, asking what _her_ favourites were, but also adding a few more. 

He found a reply in his inbox the following evening. 

_Angelique says, "I like my friend Anna, but sometimes she does things that I don't think are good, like mean things to people she doesn't like. And she doesn't think there's anything wrong with what she does -- at least you know what you did was bad and are sorry that you did those things! So I think I can like you too, even if you did bad things. And I think I kinda know what you mean -- lots of people don't like being around me neither. Sometimes it's because I did something wrong, and sometimes it's because they aren't nice people, but mom says she thinks most times it's because they worry they will hurt my feelings by saying or doing the wrong thing, so they don't say anything. Maybe you could ask Cobra if you did something to upset him, so you could do better. And if it turns out he's just a meanie, maybe you could help *him* be better._

Out of the mouths of babes .... 

* * *

Rather than just asking the man flat-out (because, really, when was he supposed to do that without putting the man on the spot in front of their friends? They were never alone together ...), Shades decided to try 'killing" Cobra with kindness, wear his defenses down first. When Shades and Stitches had started eating breakfast together, Rook had begun joining them not long after -- and Cobra went wherever Rook did. So the next morning .... 

"Hey, Cobra, you want the rest of my sausage?" Shades asked, pushing his tray towards the man -- who, unsurprisingly, ignored him. 

Shades shot a look at Rook, who just shrugged and helped himself to the sausage. Cobra sat at attention, watching Rook with dismay, then glared at Shades. 

That was way worse than being ignored. 

At lunch, Shades offered the man his brownie ... with much the same result, save the addition of Cobra leaving in a huff. 

"Was it something I said?" Shades asked Rook, who again shrugged. 

When Shades emailed Angelique, he reported his failed efforts, promising not to give up yet on the mission she'd tasked him with. 

At dinner, Shades offered his pie. For a moment, Shades felt hopeful as Cobra actually took the plate! But Cobra then stood up and laid the plate upside-down his head, then stalked off. 

A little later, they found Cobra when they got in line for their turn at the prison store. Shades watched Corbra select a pack of Twinkies, examining it -- and then, looking forlorn, put it down again, leaving without buying anything. 

Shades bought the Twinkies. 

They went to the rec room after that; finding Corbra there, Shades asked the man to join them in a game of cards. Cobra sat wordlessly between Rook and Stitches. Shades was pretty sure the only reason Cobra was joining in was because Rook was there. 

A little while into the game, Shades slowly ate one of the Twinkies. 

"Man, I don't know why they gotta put two in these packs -- I can never eat them both, and they get dry after you open the package. Anybody want this second one?" 

Rook started to speak up, but Shades kicked him under the table. 

"How's about you, big man?" Shades asked Cobra. 

Cobra seemed to agonise over the decision, before finally cracking. He glared at Shades as he snagged and devoured it without any sign of gratitude. 

Shades still counted it a victory. 

* * *

The next morning, Rook left breakfast early for an appointment with Kaplan. Shortly after, someone working in the kitchen burned themselves; summoned by another inmate, Stitches went into the kitchen look the injury over. Shades tried to engage Cobra in conversation, chatting on despite the lack of response. 

And then, finally, after finishing his breakfast, Cobra did respond. "I liked you better when you _didn't_ talk." With that, the man got to his feet. The moment he turned away from the table, someone -- Shades recognised him as "Pincher" -- punched Cobra in the gut, spilling the contents of his stomach all over their shoes. 

"Hey!" Shades barked, launching himself at Pincher. 

Shades got in a few good licks, too, before Pincher, finally on the ground, used his feet to "airplane" Shades into a support column. The column glanced his head and slammed into his shoulder, and he blacked out. 

"Why did you do that?" Cobra (and his twin?) asked when Shades woke, the man's bulk mercifully blocking much of the cafeteria's overhead lighting. 

"Do what?" Shades managed when his brain stopped swimming in his skull enough for him to form words. 

"Attack Pincher for me?" 

Shades shrugged (and regretted it, biting back a scream at the agony in his shoulder). "You're my cell-mate." 

"I don't like you." 

Shades sighed. "You don't have to; I still have your back." 

Shades hoped that the sour look Cobra wore now meant he was mulling over what Shades had said, and not that he was about to attack .... 

"What happened?" Stitches boomed, approaching. 

"Pincher," Cobra answered simply. 

"He hit _Shades?_ " 

"After Pincher hit me, Shades hit him, and Pincher threw Shades into that beam." 

"Jesus!" Stitches swore, dropping to his knees besides Shades, his fingers gently tracing what Shades suspected was a cut or something. 

"Ah!" Shades gasped as pain lanced through his skull. 

"Sorry, there's a bit of a goose egg there. How many fingers am I holding up?" 

The world was still swimming. "I wanna say six, but I'm pretty sure that's not right, unless you're Count Rugen." 

"The fact that you can remember Count Rugen's name suggests to me you'll ultimately be okay, but I'm preeeetty sure you have a concussion, all the same." 

Shades tried to turn his head, so he could see better, and not only did the swimming vision get worse, but a wave of nausea rolled over him as well. 

"Don't move your head!" Stitches warned, too little too late. "You might have hurt your neck." 

A moment later, a pair of medics arrived with a backboard and a gurney. Shades wasn't sure if it was just impossible to transfer him smoothly, or they just weren't careful because he was a felon. He was surprised to find the second possibility made him a bit angry, that it actually took a few seconds before he actually considered that he didn't deserve them being careful. Kaplan would be happy to hear that, he reckoned .... 

An hour later, after they taken x-rays and a scan of his head (no fractures or breaks or neck issues, and no brain swelling), Shades was settled into a bed in the infirmary, a bag of frozen peas resting on his head. The swimming vision had settled, as had his stomach. Stitches was there, keeping up a steady stream of light conversation as the man emptied the contents of boxes into cabinets (the infirmary being where he worked). Kaplan came in, and Shades filled her in on what happened, asking if he was headed for Solitary once he was out of the infirmary. 

"No," Kaplan assured him. "The guards say Pincher started it, and you were just trying to keep him from hurting Cobra, so you're not in trouble. Honestly -- and I say this unofficially -- I'm proud of you! It's Pincher who will be in Solitary -- for at least as long as you're in here, so Cobra should be fine without his bodyguard." 

"How long will I be in here?" 

"For a concussion? A mandatory ten days, at least," Stitches supplied. 

" _Ten??_ I don't suppose I could borrow your laptop, so I can keep writing Donna and Angelique?" he asked Kaplan. 

"In a few days, maybe," Kaplan replied with a sympathetic smile. "For the next forty-eight hours, no reading or TV-watching -- nothing overstimulating, especially for your eyes. In fact, you may want to keep your eyes covered when the lights are on. 

Shades sighed and nodded, wincing, and closed his eyes. "I can't just sleep for a whole forty-eight hours, though! What about an audio book?" 

"I'll see what I can find," Kaplan promised. "For now, I'll let Donna and Angelique know what happened, and that it'll be a few days before you can write again. I'll stop by later this afternoon," she added, patting his leg. 

A few minutes later, a familiar, deep voice asked, "You gonna be okay?" 

Wondering if he was having some sort of auditory hallucination, Shades opened his eyes; they confirmed Corbra was there, but then again, it wasn't like he could trust his eyes any more than he could trust his ears at the moment. 

"More or less," Shades assured the man. "Nothing's broken, but looks like I'm stuck here for a while for the bump on my head." 

"Sorry." 

"Hey, it's Pincher who should be apologising. Why's he got a beef with you, anyway?" 

"He says I stoled Rooksie away from him. But I didn't! Rooksie got sick of him before we even met!" 

Shades nodded sympathetically. Part of him wondered if the pair were a couple or just friends, but then he figured it didn't matter and wasn't his business, so he didn't ask for clarification. "So he waited until Rook and Stitches weren't around -- guess he figured I was too scrawny to help you." 

Cobra shrugged, averting his eyes. 

"Or ... maybe he thought I _wouldn't_ help you?" Shades pressed. 

Another shrug. 

"Cobra, did I do something to offend you? Is that why you don't like me?" 

"Rooksie said you were cute!" Cobra blurted. "And now you're talking to him!" 

"Cobra, I'm not tryin' to steal him from you, man," Shades promised. "He ain't my type. I just want to be friends, is all -- with you and Stitches too!" 

"But you didn't when you got here! You wouldn't talk to me when I said hi!" 

Shades felt a stab of guilt. "I did? Then I'm really sorry about that, Cobra. I was really depressed and kinda caught up in my own thoughts then. I probably didn't even hear you -- or if I did, I didn't think I deserved friends. But Dr Kaplan talked some sense into me. So ... can we be friends?" 

Cobra took a very long time, scowling all the while -- until he suddenly beamed (looking just as scary). "Sure!" And the man slapped Shades on the bad shoulder. 

Shades managed to stifle a scream as the world went black. 


	5. Alarmed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Shades recovers, Janis, Luke, and Misty are reminded that he exists.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for how long it took to finish this chapter! I've had some health issues, as well as hard deadlines, and my muses are very easily distracted by bright, shiny fandoms. I can't promise it'll get any faster, either, as I have four WIP fics, as well as a half-dozen original stories I'm pecking at …. (And, well, I'm basically half-blind at the mo, so eye strain is a bit of an issue.) But I won't abandon this entirely, I promise!
> 
> Let me preface this chapter by saying that I'm not Christian, so forgive me if I got anything wrong -- it's just, I figure Janis would be, and I figure that a church would be both a good place for her to meet Donna and Angelique, and a good place for her to get called on her hypocrisy.

When Shades came to, Stitches was shining a light in his eye; it might as well have been a laser. 

"Ow," Shades whimpered. 

Stitches immediately shut the flashlight off. "I told Cobra that you were really tired and needed rest for a few days, so you're safe from his ... shall we say, _boisterous affection_ \-- for now." 

"I guess I need to be more careful what I wish for," Shades quipped. Then, "Hey, how long was I out this time?" 

"Just like half a minute," the doc assured him with a bemused smile, gently putting the bag of peas back on top of Shades' head. "I don't think he made things worse." 

"Are you sure?" Shades chuckled, then winced. "It doesn't seem like it would take much for him to dislocate a shoulder or something." 

Stitches laughed heartily; Shades found he liked the sound .... 

* * *

The days were often bleak for Janis Jones, what with all her close family -- parents, husband, son -- dead. One place she could forget about it some, though, was church. There, she felt connected with people. Today, the friendly, familiar faces of Donna and her sweet little girl, Angelique, greeted her, as Donna sat in the pew in front of her, with Angelique's chair parked in a space left beside the bench just for that purpose. "How are you both this morning?" she asked them, and they exchanged pleasantries while waiting for the sermon to begin.

After the sermon, as she got up to leave, she heard Angelique ask, "Mommy, can we stay a moment? I want to say a prayer for Shades." 

Janis felt like the world had suddenly opened at her feet. She came around to the front of the child's wheelchair, kneeling down with a silent prayer of her own. "Child, do … do you mean Shades Alvarez?" 

"Do you know him?" Donna asked in return. 

"Since he was a little boy," Janis replied warily. 

"Oh! Well, he and Angelique are pen pals!" 

It took a moment for Janis to collect herself from that revelation. "Can I talk with you privately a moment?" 

"Sure," Donna replied, sounding as wary now as Janis had a moment before. "Sweetie, you just stay here and pray -- I'll be right back." And Donna led Janis down to the other end of the pew. 

"Maybe you don't know this, but Shades Alvarez is a _murderer_!" Janis informed her as quietly as she could, not wanting to upset the child. 

Donna's friendly face cooled some at that. "I'm teaching my daughter compassion and to believe that everyone can become better if given the chance -- like _Jesus_ believed. Somewhere in Heaven is a mother who hopes her son will be reunited with her one day." 

Janis fought down a wave of sheer fury. "I'll never see my _own_ son again in _this_ life because of Shades!" She didn't allow herself to contemplate the possibility that Darius might not be in Heaven. 

The understanding and pity Donna showed on her face now didn't touch the rage Janis felt -- it even seemed to stoke the flames. "You're 'Che's mother." 

" _Darius_." 

Donna nodded. "I'm sorry for your loss, truly. Remember, though, that the people your son killed--" 

"Darius never killed anyone!" 

"You and I both know that people don't run in the circles that he and Shades ran in without getting blood on their hands. But let's say you're right. He still was involved with drug sales, and even if none of his clientele never died, there was surely at _least_ one who may as well have been dead. Someone who may have had their own family who loved and miss them. With that in mind, wouldn't you want someone to show your son compassion?" 

For the second time in less than a minute, Janis felt like the floor had dropped out from under her. Part of her wanted to rail against the woman for saying such things, but as she looked up at Christ on the cross ... well, she couldn't deny that the woman had a point. 

"You don't have to be the one to show him compassion -- certainly not after what he did to someone you loved. And if he seemed like a hateful being who showed no interest in changing, I probably _wouldn't_ have allowed Angelique to talk to him. But he _has_ shown signs of regretting the things he's done, and wanting to change, so I can't deny him that chance myself," Donna added gently. "If I didn't at least _somewhat_ believe in Christ's teachings, why would I be coming here?" 

That stung. And really ... "What makes you so sure he's repented? You don't know him like I do -- he's _dangerous_ ," Janis objected. 

Donna shrugged. "I'd rather take the risk to be kind to someone it won't help, than not be kind to someone it could. If someone is drowning, I can't just sit and watch, even if they're my worst enemy. Granted, I might feel differently if Alvarez were out on the streets and a threat to the lives of others, I won't deny it, but he's not getting out of prison. Not ever. If we're not going to let prisoners try to become better people, then why keep them alive if we think they can continue to be a threat?" 

"Good question -- as far as I'm concerned, Shades should sit in a chair that he'll _never_ get out of alive!" 

"And how would you have felt if someone had said that about your son?" The words were hard, but Donna's voice was gentle. "Look, I'm not going to insists you forgive him -- what you do is between you, Shades, and God. But the same is true of me." And with that, Donna collected her child and left. 

Janis sank down onto the pew, looking up again at Jesus. Perhaps Donna had been placed in her path for a reason. Perhaps it was time to set anger aside, as Jesus surely would have, and really examine things. Perhaps she would find she was right after all -- but if not, then for her own soul's sake at the very least, it was worth the effort, wasn't it? 

She had only started calling Hernan "Shades" since learning of his betrayal -- a recent thing, in the scope over her life. Until then -- until he'd been revealed a Judas -- she had seen Hernan as a second son, taking care of him when he'd needed it. And hadn't _he_ taken care of _her_ , as a son would, once Darius couldn't? Yes, he wouldn't have needed to if he hadn't murdered his best friend -- his brother in all but blood -- but a truly evil man wouldn't have felt any sense of responsibility towards her. He certainly hadn't gained anything out of it, other than her continued love! And why would he have cared about _that_ if he didn't care about _her_ , and regret his actions? 

Donna has asked how she would feel if someone had carried such rage against her son. What if Donna was right -- what if Darius wasn't so good of a man? He'd gone to prison, after all; what if there were other crimes for which he _hadn't_ paid? How would she have felt if she'd had another son, and Darius had killed him? Would she hate him as she hated Hernan now? 

She thought back to when Hernan had come to see her, after killing Darius. He'd seemed grief-stricken, and had started to say that the Darius he knew would never ... and then they'd gotten interrupted. Was it a matter of Hernan being a great actor, as she'd convinced herself after his confession? She'd been so upset at the police station, seeing him as having played her all along, but she never really sat down and examined what he'd said about what had happened. 

There was no denying any longer that Darius had betrayed him first. 

Thinking back on it, he'd seemed ... _aggrieved_ while confessing to that. Like he honestly wished Darius hadn't done what he'd done. Like Darius had forced his hand. He said he hadn't wanted his friend to suffer; he had no reason to put up a front to the police, not after the callousness he'd displayed while talking of his other crimes. 

He was still a monster, but could Donna be right? Could there also be a speck of decency in there? If there was, could it be nurtured, grown? 

What would Jesus do either way? 

And what would _Darius_ want her to do? 

* * *

Shades and Stitches had spent the next couple of hours chatting, getting to know one another beyond favourite books and television shows. Shades didn't ask Stitches about his crimes, and vice versa -- there was an unspoken rule against that -- but since Shades had begun his life of crime at a tender age, there wasn't much for Shades to share that didn't involve it somehow, save for things like discussing music, or sharing how 'Che had taught him to speak English. Memories of 'Che brought forth the familiar swell of guilt ... but also, for the first time since that fateful night, a sense of fondness. He clung to the feeling as he spoke of the person he'd loved most. To the bulk of the world, 'Che was a thug; 'Che deserved to have his better self known to more than just his mother and the man who'd murdered him. 

Not only did Stitches put up with Shades drone on and on about his best friend, but the good doctor prodded him to keep going, asking questions when Shades started to run out of steam. (Okay, so maybe part of that was because of the concussion, a matter of trying to make sure his memory and cognitive functions were okay, but still.) Stitches even took on the next shift, so he could stay with Shades! (This was something of a relief when Shades needed help getting to the bathroom; at least he was already used to using the toilet with Stitches around, in their cell.) 

Kaplan came back as promised, bringing an audiobook of _Harry Potter and The Sorcerer's Stone_ with her. After she left, Stitches popped the CD into an old boom-box the infirmary kept on hand. Shades recognised the narrator as Jim Dale, the same guy who'd narrated _Pushing Daisies_ , and found the man's voice soothing -- perhaps too much so, as Shades didn't make it past the third chapter before nodding off. 

His dreams were filled with 'Che and Mariah, in a mix of actual memories, and memories where one or the other was in the place of someone else, such as a Shades' first girlfriend. Sometimes Che was Mariah, or vice versa. All of the memories were varying degrees of lusty, from hesitant or drunken experimenting, to full-on, no-holds-barred intimacy. At one point, when the scene changed again, Shades was in bed, and found 'Che hovering over him in the dim light. He reached up and drew 'Che down, kissing him long and deep, not holding back as he'd tended to do with the man in waking life. 

To his dismay, 'Che pulled away after a moment. 

To his even greater dismay, he realised he hadn't actually been kissing 'Che. 

"Oh, God! I--I am ... _so_ sorry!" he stammered. 

"Hey, now, no need for apologies," Stitches began. "I mean, I'm _totally_ down for that, if you are. I just want to be sure you're compos mentis if we do, ya know?" He winked. 

His heart did a little flip. Stitches was ... _interested?_

But after a moment's reflection, Shades had to admit, "To be honest, while I think I'm down too, I'm not sure if I _am_ compos mentis. I thought ... I thought you were _'Che_. But ... I'm never gonna get to kiss him again, am I? And it's all my fault!" Shades drew his knees up, covering his head with his hands, ignoring the pain in his skull and his shoulder as he sobbed. 

He vaguely noticed the bed sink as Stitches sat beside him. He stiffened for a moment as he felt a solid, warm arm slip around him. He'd murdered his best friend. He didn't deserve comfort. 

That didn't change that he _needed_ it. 

And so he succumbed, resting his head against the man's broad chest, and letting the doctor envelope him with his other arm. Stitches rubbed circles on his back, calming the sobbing, and lulling Shades back to sleep. 

* * *

Luke was listening to an auditioning band at Harlem's Paradise, when there was a knock at the door. Glancing outside, he spotted a bedraggled figure -- the man looked like a meth-head. Luke reckoned the man was probably looking for his dealer. Luke shook his head no, saying they were closed, hoping the guy could read his lips well enough to get the hint. They were a _night club_ \-- they didn't even open until 8 pm, and it was only 4! 

More knocking, more insistent; apparently not. 

Luke ignored the man, hoping the guy would give up and go away. 

Then Luke heard the breaking of glass, a split-second before he found himself knocked off his feet, sliding across the floor. He gawked at the figure that stepped through the now-shattered door. Was this man an Inhuman, or had he brought a Stark-level advanced weapon to the club? Luke saw no sign of the latter, but in this day and age, one never knew .... Luke flicked his eyes towards the band, and was relieved to see them all sitting up -- they looked to be okay. He turned his attention back to the intruder, hoping to keep the man focused on him, so the band might escape. 

"Where's Alvarez?" the man growled, wild-eyed. 

Luke scowled. "Not _here!_ Don't you pay attention to the news, man? He's in _Ryker's!_ " 

The man's face fell; he looked like a lost child for a moment, before renewed rage aged him again. "Liar! You're _protecting_ him!" 

Luke snorted at that. "Believe me, he's the _last_ man I'd protect." 

The intruder squinted, like that would tell him whether Luke was trustworthy or not. Finally, his shoulders relaxed. "Rykers. Okay, thank you," he nodded, then hurried back out of the club through the hole he'd made. 

Luke really didn't want to care, but there was the nagging worry that guards at Rykers -- or less guilty criminals -- would be hurt if this guy went nova inside the prison. Luke had taken seconds too long to reach that conclusion, though; by the time he got to his feet and outside, he couldn't see where the man had gone. 

Unsure whether anyone at the prison would listen to him, he called Misty. He looked at his phone in confusion when, as the phone was still ringing, he heard Misty's voice call his name, but quickly realised her voice was coming from _behind_ him. 

"Everyone all right?" she asked as she approached, gun at the ready. "I was in the area and heard the explosion!" 

He nodded, then filled her in, other police arriving in squad cars in the meantime. 

Within five minutes, Misty had put out an APB on the assailant, and warned the prison. "I'm headed over to Rykers -- feel like tagging along?" she asked. 

He didn't really, but with his power came great responsibility, right? He could withstand the man's power, and he knew what the man looked like .... 

* * *

Shades woke to the sound of the TV, though the volume was low -- he heard a dog bark, and thought for a moment that he was an eight-year-old again, making friends with a mangy stray in an alley. He'd wanted a dog more than anything, but his building hadn't allowed them. Still, for a few months, in the afternoons, after school and before dinner, he'd had a dog, finding Mutt waiting for him in the same alley every day 

And then, one day, Mutt had eaten something out of the trash that he shouldn't have. 

Shades had decided then that he didn't want a dog anymore. Dogs didn't live as long as people -- they left you, breaking your heart as they went. Some other boys had found him sobbing over his four-legged friend, and decided Shades needed a lesson in keeping his tears to himself. 

But for just a moment, just now, Shades was that happy boy who'd had a dog, and thus had known unconditional love, for the only time in his life. 

As he remembered where he was, he opened his eyes a little, curious as to what Stiches was watching. He was surprised to see an inmate with a dog on the screen. Did some prisons allow pets? 

"What is this?" 

"It's a documentary called 'Dogs on the Inside' -- it's about guys in prison who train service dogs," Stitches explained. 

Shades immediately thought of Angelique, and felt like his whole life had led up to this moment. "Do we have something like that _here?_ " he asked, eyes wide open now as he struggled to sit up. (At least the pain wasn't as bad as it had been the day before.) 

"Hey, now, I thought you were supposed to stay still and keep your eyes closed!" Kaplan reprimanded as she came into the room. 

"He _is_ ," Stitches agreed, laying a warning hand on Shades. 

"Okay, okay," Shades chuckled, giving up and closing his eyes. 

The sudden klaxon demanded he open them again. 

"Lockdown?" He, Stitches, and Kaplan all asked one another. 

A voice from overhead confirmed their suspicion, telling them that they had been alerted to the approach of a dangerously powered intruder, and that they should all stay where they were, locking the door where possible. 

Shades hoped they caught the guy soon; the klaxon wasn't doing his concussion any favours! 

"Dr Kaplan, you wanna stay or go?" Stitches asked as he headed for the door. 

"I doubt they'll let me outside now, so I'd just as soon as stay here, if that's all right." 

"You won't get any complaints from me," Shades weighed in. "In fact, I have something I want to ask you," he added, fiddling nervously with his blanket. 

"Oh?" 

"You seen this show?" he asked, gesturing to the TV. 

She watched a moment. "Oh! Yes!" She studied him. "Were you thinking of doing that? For Angelique?" 

" _Is_ that something I'd be allowed to do?" he asked in turn, hopeful yet bracing himself for disappointment. 

"I can certainly look into it!" she beamed, the cheerful sight a strange contrast with the alarm announcing impending doom. 

Somehow, her answer was worse than a flat-out no -- how long would he have to wait to know, caught between two possible answers ...? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Dogs on the Inside_ is a real thing. :)


	6. Not-So-Happy Reunions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shades gets some unwanted visitors.

Chapter 6

Stitches turned off the TV. "No sense in advertising that people are in here. In fact, let's get in the _bathroom_ , 'ey?" he added, gesturing to the windows that were everywhere else in the room, to emphasise his point. Without waiting for a response, he slid his arms under Shades and lifted him up. 

The world swam a bit, but Shades was grateful he didn't have to get to the bathroom on his own. Kaplan even grabbed some blankets and pillows, laying them on the shower floor, Stitches gently laying Shades down on them. They sat there silently in the little room, for what felt like an eternity. Shades couldn't decide if he should be scared or bored, so he settled for both. Both _wasn't_ good. 

It was even worse when they heard a boom and the sound of glass breaking. 

Next came a muffled shout. "You in here, Alvarez? C'mout, c'mout, wherever ya are -- else the Big Bad Wolf is gonna blow this whoooole fuckin' prison down!" 

With his head being the shape it was, it was hard to place the voice at first, but Shades managed. _Begby?_ He'd thought the man was _dead_ , killed in one of the fights in Seagate! 

"Or maybe you don't care if I kill everyone here to get to you?" 

Shades didn't doubt for a second that the man would kill anyone that came between them. And maybe the man would have been right about Shades, not long ago, but now ...? He struggled to rise. 

Stitches grabbed his shoulder and pulled. "Sit your ass down!" the doctor hissed. 

"You heard him," Shades whispered. "He's gonna find me one way or another; at least I can keep him from hurting anyone else in the process! I appreciate that you care, but this is my life, to spend as I see fit. This is my mess; I'm the only one who should pay the price." 

"There are better ways to atone," Kaplan protested. "Ways that involve you being around _to_ atone, for years to come! Not to mention, there are people better-equipped to handle this guy than you!" 

"Knock, knock!" Begby called out, the bathroom door suddenly flying open, punctuating his words."Heeeey, Shady! Long time no see!" Begby greeted with a crazed grin. 

"Hey, man," Shades nodded, slowly getting to his feet, using the shower faucet to help himself up. The handle turned, cold water splashing his heels, but he only stumbled a little. He raised his hands in surrender, ignoring the tugging of his friends' hands on his hospital gown. Kaplan and Stitches gave up trying to stop Shades, and stood beside him instead. "What beings you to Ryker's?" Shades asked Begby. 

Begby snorted. "Whachoo think, man? I got this power 'cause _you_ handed me over for some whacked-out experiment. Figured the least I could do was come and thank you with that very same power, right?" 

Honestly, Shades couldn't argue against that. However .... "Seems the least I deserve, sure, but these two here? They ain't earned _shit_ , man. So why not let them leave first, okay?" 

"Oh, I think they deserve _plenty_ \-- they been helpin' you, after all, right? So they get a front-row seat to your execution!" And he laughed. Suddenly, it seeemed something occurred to him, his smile slipping momentarily into surprise, and then becoming a few notches more evil-looking. "On second thought, if you like them so much, it's be more fun to see your reaction to _their_ deaths!" He had his eyes on Kaplan then. 

Shades had been braced for this possibility; apparently Stitches and Kaplan were too. There was no hesitation from any of them. Kaplan grabbed the bar of soap from the shelf in the shower, throwing it, hitting Begby in the eye. Stitches grabbed Begby, pulling him forward and down to his knees, then straddled the man's back and pulled Begby's arms behind Begby. Shades pulled the hand-held shower-head free from its holder and pulled the diverter, redirecting the water into it. He aimed the spray at Begby's head, keeping the man from being able to focus enough to use his power. 

"I'll call the guard!" Kaplan announced, pulling out her cell phone. 

Shades panted heavily, trying to swallow back the nausea and ignore how his head began to swim; in this close of quarters, if Begby managed to use his power, they were finished! So when he caught sight of the infirmary door opening, at first he wasn't even sure it was really moving, and not a matter of his concussion distorting things. 

He doubted his senses even more when a certain someone walked into the room. 

" _Cage?_ " 

"You mean a cell?" Stitches, who couldn't see the newcomer, asked, then shook his head. "Presuming we could get him down to the block, I don't have any keys to get him into one." 

"He means _me_ ," Cage explained as he approached. 

Knight came out beside him, immediately training her gun on the pair of men on the floor. 

Shades tensed, worried for Stitches for _two_ reasons now. He was so focused on Cage and Knight, his aim shifted a moment, but he quickly corrected it (as best he could with shaking hands and knees), heart pounding over his slip. They needed to get Begby totally out of commission soon, before he regained control! 

Stitches looked over his shoulder. "Oh, hey. There's a sedative and needles in that locked cabinet over there." 

Knight was on the ball, shooting the lock and quickly loading up a syringe. For his park, Cage pinned Begby's ankles to the floor with his hands. Knight injected Begby from behind, and in moments, the man went limp. 

"We sure he's out?" Shades worried, still spraying the man. 

"One way to find out." And Stitches lifted the man from the floor, practically tossing him onto the bed, anx checked his vitals. He nodded. 

Shades turned the faucet off and stumbled out of the bathroom, to a chair, trying to quell both the shaking and the rising nausea with deep breaths. "Thank you, Detective. Cage." 

"To be clear, we didn't do it for _you_ ," Knight said pointedly. 

"I know. Doesn't change that I'm grateful. Thanks to you, my friend Dr. Kaplan here gets to see her family tonight." 

"Yes, my thanks," Kaplan nodded. "But what do we do with this guy _now?_ He'll just break cuffs with his power!" 

"Medically induced coma, for the moment," Stitches decided, and began doing his thing. 

"They let you have access to that stuff?" Cage marvelled. "Aren't _you_ a prisoner too?" 

"I am," Stitches confirmed absently as he worked. "I'm also a _doctor_ , and prisoners can need life-saving surgery now and then. It's useful to have a doc around that you don't have to pay quite so much. Hey, turn the TV back on, will you?" he added. "We were watching 'Dogs on the Inside' before this guy so rudely interrupted." 

Shaking his head in bemusement, Cage did as he was asked. "You thinking of training service dogs, Alvarez?" 

"Just an idea," Shades shrugged. "Oh, it's over," Shades then noted, disappointed, a game show having appeared on the screen. 

"I'll see if I can rent it," Kaplan promised. "Meanwhile, I'm sure Stitches will agree with me that you should _rest_. We've all had more than enough excitement for one day." And she turned the TV off. 

"When you're right, you're right, doc," Shades agreed, getting gingerly to his feet. 

He managed a couple of steps, and then the world spun. He was vaguely aware of being helped into bed, before succumbing to the dark again. 

* * *

Misty didn't care what happened to Alvarez, really, but she wasn't heartless, and neither was Luke; her friend caught the criminal before he could faceplant, and together, they got him settled into bed. 

Remembering how he'd been able to sleep like a baby in the interrogation room, she noted he didn't look all that at peace in his sleep anymore. 

"What happened to him, anyway?" she wondered, gesturing to the rather gruesome head injury as Stitches hurriedly looked him over. She felt a little ashamed of the momentary thought that whoever had attacked the man should have finished the job -- but, remembering what he'd done to Candace, not _too_ guilty. 

"Our cellmate's been having problems with someone, and Shades stepped in," Stitches replied. "He got pile-drived into a pillar, and earned a concussion for his trouble. I think he'll be all right; probably just the stress got to him," he added to Kaplan, who looked relieved. 

Okay, Misty was a little surprised by that -- the man who'd killed his best friend had put himself on the line for someone he'd only known two or three months? By the look on Luke's face, the man was equally surprised -- and skeptical. 

The guards arrived just then, and Misty and Luke and Kaplan stayed to answer questions (and, frankly, to make sure this Begby character was properly handled; thankfully, it turned out that there was a SHIELD holding tank on-hand for emergency Terregen cases, and they thought the tank would work on Begby). 

"Well, I best be going. It was nice meeting you," Kaplan told them. 

"We'll walk with you, if that's all right -- I have a few questions," Misty replied. 

"Well, provided they're not anything that breaches confidentiality, I'd be happy to answer them," Kaplan agreed, opening the door. 

"So, you're _really_ considering letting Alvarez train a dog?" Misty asked Kaplan once they were in the hall. 

"Yes." Kaplan seemed surprised at the question. "Do you think he'd hurt it?" 

"Well, he did shoot a woman in cold blood," Misty pointed out. 

Kaplan nodded. "And within the context of his society, Candace Miller broke an agreement, knowing full well what the cost of that action would likely be. Believe it or not, Mr Alvarez lived by a code -- even if it was definitely the wrong one. And survival in that society requires a certain ability to compartmentalise. My observation is that, since incarceration, Mr. Alvarez has taken steps towards breaking down the walls of those compartments. Here, let's step into my office," she suggested, opening a door, flicking on the light, and gesturing them inside. 

Misty looked to Luke, who shrugged. Sighing, unsure why she was bothering, she entered the room and took a seat, her companions following suit. 

"I'm sorry, but ..." Misty began, "I mean, prison is supposed to be a _punishment_ , and it sounds like you're _rewarding_ him with this notion of getting him a dog." 

"So what would _you_ have me do with him?" Kaplan asked. 

Misty shrugged. "Lock him in solitary forever?" 

"To what end?" Kaplan prodded. 

"Uh, _punishment?_ " Duh! 

"Well, I'm sorry, Detective, but that actually sounds like vengeance to me, and as far as I'm concerned, an eye for an eye makes the world go blind. I would rather _help_ the people here become the best version of themselves possible. Even those who are here for the rest of their lives can still be productive members of society; why would I want any less? Besides, it seems cruel to expect people who have had to fight for their very survival, people whom the world has called worthless, to not in turn _act_ like they're worthless, when they haven't been taught any better." 

Misty scowled. "A lot of people who grew up alongside those criminals have made something of themselves instead of turning to crime!" 

Kaplan nodded. "And I commend them for it! But not everyone is born with the innate strength to do that. And really, some people get just a bit luckier than others along the way. In the meantime, some, instead of learning right from wrong, are _only_ taught how to survive. We don't expect people to know a language they never learned, and morality, too, is at least partially learned. Like how there are things here that are illegal elsewhere, and vice versa -- we take for granted that morality is the same everywhere, but really, it's not. It's a social construct that changes depending on the circumstances. It's _my_ job, in part, to teach criminals the dialect of morality that we typically use in this region. I also help stimulate the regions of the brain that went dark because they weren't nurtured, or because they couldn't do what they needed to in order to live, thus creating sociopaths. And you may not believe this, but Alvarez has shown better and faster improvement than most in that regard." 

Kaplan's speech sounded noble, but Misty felt it was also naive -- and, really, an insult to Alvarez's victims! 

"So why a service dog?" Luke asked. "Alvarez didn't have any pets before, as far as I ever saw." 

"Well, for one, just as we can diagnose a _psycho_ path -- someone born without development in the area of the brain involving empathy -- by how they mistreat animals, we find we can also help _develop_ empathy in _socio_ paths -- people whose brains are underdeveloped in that regard due to poor socialisation, rather than being impaired upon birth -- by exposing them to animals, _especially_ if they're actually involved with the animal's care. For another, it's because Alvarez has been participating in a pen-pal programme, and his pen-pal is a little disabled girl who needs a service dog." 

Misty jumped to her feet. "You're letting him talk to a _child??_ He's _playing_ you!" 

Kaplan raised a hand. "Her mother Donna and I both monitor the correspondence. He was very up-front with Donna. He's not allowed to ask for any items, or make any suggestions as to specific actions they might perform, people they might contact, etc. He has no way of knowing where they live, and he's never getting out of prison. And Donna can end the communication at any time. 

"if I can get him enrolled in the prison-dog programme," she continued, "then he gets to have a _purpose, **and**_ that little girl gets the service dog she needs. I'd call that win-win -- otherwise, we might as well just execute him, if the _only_ reason he's still alive is to make him suffer. _Is_ that why you incarcerate people, Detective? If your answer is yes, then I should quit my job right now, because I won't be party to that." 

Kaplan was eerily calm, even gentle, throughout the conversation, her declarations matter-of-fact instead of heated. Granted, Misty had been in therapy before, and such speech was the modus operandi of the profession, but Misty wasn't Kaplan's patient, dammit! How was she supposed to debate when her opponent was being so ... _nice_? And not just nice, but somehow also authoritative. Misty felt like she was being lectured in the principal's office, encouraged to make peace with an opponent she'd been fighting with -- never mind that the other person (Alvarez) was so much worse than, say, a typical high school bully. 

And then it seemed Kaplan was a mind-reader, to boot. "I'm sorry, Detective. I know the situation with Alvarez is personal for you -- you have every right to never forgive him. But you asked; I answered. And truly, if you can think of some way that this situation could go sideways, I welcome your input. My phone is always on." 

"I can think of one right now," Luke offered." What if this is just a means for a jail break? I mean, don't they ship the inmates to a prison where classes on dog training are given? What if he's plotting for someone to help him escape during the transfer?" 

Misty nodded heartily. 

"Fair point," Kaplan conceded. "So it's probably a good thing that I've actually been talking to the governor for a while about the possibility of starting such a programme here -- Alvarez wouldn't be transferred anywhere. But aside, from that, Alvarez hasn't had outside communication with anyone but Donna, whom I introduced him to, and I've been reading all their correspondence." 

"Doesn't mean he's not going through an inmate," Luke pointed out. 

"Hell, maybe that guy's attack today was apart of a jailbreak attempt!" Misty suggested. 

"Also fair points," Kaplan agreed, "but the fact remains that, if he is trying to escape, the dog programme won't be a viable avenue. Besides, he made no effort to escape today." 

"Maybe because he hadn't expected _you_ to be there too -- or for himself to have a head injury," Misty replied. 

"Nnn, I dunno, Misty -- if it _was_ an attempt, he and his posse went above and beyond to be convincing," Luke objected. "Remember that that guy blew in the door at Harlem's Paradise, thinking Shades was there." 

Misty sighed. "And that led to you and I being here, interfering, rather than far away, and the prison getting a warning and going into lockdown. And thinking he arranged all this so that we would have our guard down _later_ seems paranoid, even for me." 

"It would indeed be paranoid," Kaplan agreed; Misty couldn't tell if she was serious or teasing. 

"And I have no trouble believing Begby wanted revenge for Shades' part in making him into a lab-rat," Luke weighed in, "considering I went through the exact same thing. There have to be others, too!" 

Misty's stomach sank. "So you're saying _more_ super-powered people might be coming after Alvarez?" 

Luke's eyes grew wide. " _Sweet Christmas._ " 

"Not _many_ more, if _any_ ," Kaplan offered. "Alvarez said that, as far as he knew, the rest of the subjects he'd helped collect had all died." 

"You don't seem bothered by that," Misty noted. 

"I _am_ sad for those who suffered and died, but I'm not _bothered_ , per se, because I'm quite certain that Alvarez is no longer the man who did those terrible things. On the other hand, I'm surprised that you _would_ be bothered, Detective." 

Misty bristled at that. "How do you figure?" 

"Odds are high that the men who died were as bad or worse than Alvarez ever was; aren't you glad to know they suffered?" 

"No!" Misty snapped. 

"Interesting. Is it _compassion_ for the test subjects that drives you, then? Or is the problem that they died instead of living to suffer for their full sentence?" 

"B-both!" Misty sputtered. "What Luke described was cruel and unusual punishment! They should have served the sentence they were _given_!" 

"Oh! I guess you hadn't heard that most of the men who were in that programme were sentenced by a judge who was actually _involved_ in the programme. So technically, they got exactly what the judge intended for them to get. Honestly, even when illegal experiments _aren't_ being conducted, there's still a contingent of our justice system who feel criminals have no value save for as a legal sort of slavery. I and those I work with would rather help the prisoners find a path of their own to betterment; true change only comes honestly when it's _chosen_ , rather than coerced through externally inspired fear." 

"'Externally inspired'?" Luke echoed. 

"I'd say that Alvarez _is_ still afraid, and that fear drives him to behave better -- but it's not fear of being punished or killed; instead, it's fear of hurting others again. Or so it seems to me, through my observations. Thankfully, even if he's pulling the wool over my eyes, as you fear, it won't gain him anyhting." 

"It's gaining him a _dog_ ," Misty pointed out. 

" _If_ he passes a rigorous training programme, yes, he will have a dog -- until the dog finishes its training. And there will be evaluations -- if he fails to make timely progress, the dog will be assigned to another inmate, and he'll be ejected from the programme. Would you like to be privy to his progress? I can note to my superiors that you have concerns about his authenticity, and that you challenge his fitness to join the programme. I can even arrange for you to observe his evaluations." 

Misty was surprised at this sudden overture, but she had a pretty good guess as to why: the woman simply wanted to prove that she was right about Alvarez. And if Kaplan really was right, great -- but if she wasn't, then Misty felt she should do her best to stay involved anyway, and make sure Alvarez didn't pull some sort of fast one. 

"Sure, fine, sign me up. You in, Luke?" 

Kaplan finally seemed caught off-guard. "Oh! But he's a civillian!" 

"Consultant, actually," Misty clarified, grinning, throwing the4 woman's own words back at her. 

Kaplan smiled and shrugged. "If Seagate can have an underground fight club and a secret lab where prisoners are experimented on, I'm sure I can pull _something_ off to get him allowed into the testing area ...." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued ….


End file.
